


Takeout

by poludeuces



Category: Fate/strange fake
Genre: Castle!AU, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-10-25 16:45:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10768335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poludeuces/pseuds/poludeuces
Summary: Captain Reeve is surprised when he is forced to work with best-selling author Alexandre Dumas for his new book. He is angry. Dumas is excited.





	1. Chapter 1

There was only one reason for someone to be in his office this early in the morning. 

It was seven-thirty in the morning, meaning it was way for John to be here. He was likely awake, running on a treadmill downstairs in the gym. The detective would then arrive at nine o’clock, on the nose, his bangs still wet from the showers and a protein shaker bottle in his hand, ready for another big day of work.

It couldn’t be Detective Cervantes, either. He had been doing stakeouts with No Name and Hippolyta all week near the deserts to the south and likely wouldn’t show up until later that afternoon with a cup of coffee. Nevertheless, if he was here, the rest of the nun squad would be there, and No Name was not at her desk near the elevator.

He quickly crossed off Watcher and Doc, as they rarely left their offices, and Doc always dropped off her daughter at school. Finally, Doris had been working less hours as she reached her retirement. That left only one man. 

Orlando sighed, _Of course, the one man I don’t want to see at 7:30 in the morning._

He made his way through the detective floor of the Snowfield police station. Once a beautiful marvel of simple and efficient architecture, it was clearly in need of a little help. Some paint chipped on the walls, a large stain sat on the ceiling from when the roof leaked three years ago. Not to mention the entire floor smelled a little bad from when John brought in whatever concoction his grandparents had made for him and it had exploded in the microwave. 

The square floor was filled to the brim. On one side, full windows brought in the slowly rising sun, painting lines across the linoleum floor. The other had floor to ceiling file cabinets. Two rows of desks parted to create a small passage for Captain Reeve to walk through, where at the far side of the room sat his office. As he reached his door, the weasel himself turned to face him.

“Captain Reeve! Good morning!” Faldeus beamed. Orlando noticed that he had opened the blinds in his office, and he squinted as the light hit him directly in the eyeline. 

Faldeus Dioland, mayor of Snowfield. Reeve had known him since he had been a young prosecution lawyer. While working closely to tie up cases, they had quickly become close friends.

_Still, we’re not that close enough for you to come into my office at 7:30._

Reeve shook the question of why he was able to get into his locked office in the first place out of his mind as he stepped in. He closed the door behind him, eyes ever locked on Faldeus. 

There was a clear height difference, as Orlando stood at least a head taller than Faldeus. He still looked very young despite his achievements, with cleanly cut bluish black hair and strong blue eyes.

Orlando, on the other hand, clearly looked like a man who had gone through a lifetime of work. His eyes were encircled by wrinkles and his hair had started to grey. While he didn’t have Doris’ shrinking spine just yet, he had stopped doing very dangerous missions years ago. He left those to John and Clan Catalin.

“What are you doing here, Faldeus?” Orlando asked. He had been serving Snowfield as captain for almost a decade now. While he may have been more pleasant when he was still an officer or even when he was a rookie detective, as he aged he realised that no time for pleasantries.

Especially with Faldeus.

Re-elections were coming up soon and with it more visits from Faldeus to the police station. He had been claiming that he was just making sure everything was running smoothly, but Orlando knew that he just wanted to create some semblance to voters that he actually cared. Crime rates had arguably dropped since Faldeus’ introduction to office, but recent allegations that he was tied to the mafia hadn’t helped his reputation.

“Can’t an old friend come deliver some coffee?” Faldeus gestured at the steaming coffee on Orlando’s desk, a large to-go cup from the diner across the street with two sugar packets leaning against it. In his left hand, he held a similar looking cup. Orlando noticed that on the side of the cup multiple boxes had been checked off. Faldeus had likely ordered another extremely complicated drink as per usual.

“There is nothing wrong with an old friend delivering coffee,” Orlando paused, walking around his desk and laying his briefcase down. He shrugged off his jacket and relished in the soft tickle from the fake fur around the collar. Spring was clawing its way out yet it still it was colder than usual. He didn’t mind though. Orlando was always one for layers. “Yet if you wanted to do that you could have easily sent over Hassan.”

Faldeus smiled into his coffee. He knew he had been beaten. “Ok, maybe I need a favour as well.” 

Orlando chuckled and slid into his chair. It was a squeaky thing that he had tried to have Watcher fix a million times. It groaned in protest as he sunk in. He would have to wheel the thing down to Watcher again, maybe he could try it once more. 

Faldeus sat down across from him, crossing his legs. The coffee cup sat in his lap, his fingers drumming against the carboard slip. Orlando managed to catch the soft glimmer of Faldeus’ gold watch that he had been trying to cover with his sleeves, and noticed that he wasn’t wearing the usual number of rings. 

“I’m sure you are aware of New York Times best-selling author Alexandre Dumas?”

“The playboy?” 

Faldeus rolled his eyes. The tapping had stopped. “Oh yes, he has been known for that, I suppose.” Obviously, it was not the answer he had wanted. “But I’m sure he’s likely more renown for his novels.”

 _I wouldn’t say that,_ Orlando thought. _But whatever._

“Why does a best-selling author matter? Does he need supervision? Is someone targeting him?” Orlando reached over the desk and grabbed the coffee, pouring in the sugar.

Of course Orlando had known about him. John kept on gushing about his earlier works in the lunch room in attempt to get the nun squad to read them. Orlando knew that a copy of _The Three Musketeers_ was sitting somewhere in John’s desk. 

Plus it was difficult to not see him at some point. His philanthropy work had certainly given him a reputation. He had supposedly backed a couple of now Tony awarded plays and musicals so that they could get off of their feet. One of his more famous books, _The Count of Montecristo,_ had recently been adapted to film and was on everyone’s Oscar list. 

There were a couple of downsides to the fame however. Magazines commented about how his love life was a revolving door of women. There had been a couple of women who had come out and said that their children were his. Those had turned out to be false, but the damage had been done. His last novel had done worse compared to his other works. 

“No,” Faldeus laughed and brushed his bangs out of his eyes, “He wants to shadow you.”

At this point Orlando spat out the coffee he had been drinking. 

“What, _what?_ He wants to shadow me? Why? He’s an author, not some police officer! And why me? Doesn’t he live in Paris?”

Captain Reeve threw his hands around as he spoke. His eyes danced before landing on Faldeus who was doubled over, laughing. The mayor composed himself and took another sip of coffee before returning his attention to the captain. 

“I’m sorry,” Faldeus wiped his eyes. “This morning I got a call from Francesca about it.”

Orlando threw himself back into his chair. _It always has something to do with that leach, doesn’t it?_

“Supposedly with his last book, um, not doing as spectacularly as he anticipated, he wanted to write somewhere new,” Faldeus explained as he leaned back into the chair. “He’s thinking of doing a noire mystery novel, something more reminiscent of 1950’s mystery. However, since he’s never actually seen how a case works behind the scenes, he’s going to need to shadow someone to really know.

“Since the Prelati family and him met in Paris, Francesca offered to find him a place in Snowfield for him to write,” he said. The mayor took another sip before adding, “And a captain to teach him.”

“I would really appreciate it if you and Francesca stopped signing me up for things I never agreed to.” Orlando glanced up at the clock. It had been thirty minutes. Soon Doris would show up—he needed to make this quick.

“Plus,” Orlando added, “Why can’t he just do like everyone else and steal his ideas from a shitty television show?” 

“Ha, well, let’s just say he wants it to be as realistic as possible.” Faldeus threw back the rest of the cup’s contents, uncrossing his legs. His gaze returned back to Orlando. “Now, captain. I know that having such an A-lister like Dumas will certainly bring some more life to Snowfield. And you should know that having him follow you will make the public forget any of those bribery accusations.” 

“Which you helped me get, mind you,” Orlando reminded him.

Faldeus agreed, “That is true.”

The mayor stood up, his long coat floating around him like a cloud. He turned around and threw the coffee cup into Orlando’s garbage can. “But,” he said, turning his head to look back at the captain, “If you don’t do this for me, let me remind you that I can easily have you removed.”

Orlando responded with a stare. He kept his balled fists under the desk. 

“Great!” The joy the captain had been greeted with had returned. “I’ll have Hassan send you more of the details.”

With that, he opened the door and walked out of his office. 

Doris popped her head in a couple of minutes later. “Sir? Do you need anything?”

Orlando groaned, “Get me Watcher on the phone.”

“Oh ok,” the older lady turned away from the office, about to head back to her desk when Orlando called out once more.

“And can you get me a coffee, as well? Black, two sugars.” Doris didn’t mention why he would need one when he had one already on his desk, just threw on her jacket and headed down.

 

“Looks like the tabloids were right for once,” Watcher noted. He reached down and grabbed another chicken wing from the take-out container. Orlando was too tired to ask him why he was eating such garbage this early in the morning. 

“What did you find?” After Doris had returned with his coffee, she had patched him up with the precinct’s resident IT guy and informant. ‘Find me anything you can about Dumas’, he had requested. Thirty minutes later he got an e-mail telling him to come down to the basement.

Amidst the servers and generators sat Watcher’s desk. It was the epitome of unkempt, with candy bar wrappers and Mountain Dew cans strewn everywhere. Orlando recognized some Tupperware containers that must have come from Doris, and a couple of mugs from the break room that were likely never going to return. He wondered where they had all be disappearing to.

“Well, he’s the son of a general, fought back in ‘Nam. Dad died shortly after coming back home leaving his mom to be a single mother. Didn’t stop him though, went to university in the Pyrenees, moved to Paris after the success of his first novel, and has been there ever since.” Watcher brought up another article and Dumas’ wide grin was now staring both of them in the face.

“When it comes to his personal life things are a bit juicier. Never been married but has been seen with over 10 women in the past decade. Nothing too special of course, just some French models and rich pretty things. The most interesting one was likely when he started dating this ‘Charles Nodier’ guy for a couple of months. Seems like that was his only really stable relationship.” He waved the now clean wing bone at the monitor as he clicked through pictures of the various women Dumas had dated in the past decade. 

“Anything else?” Orlando asked as he peered over Watcher’s shoulder. It certainly wasn’t new to the captain that he was a play boy, but he certainly was surprised at the number of people he had been with. The slideshow ended on Nodier, who seemed to have been his last partner. 

“Hm, yeah,” Watcher opened up the police’s database. There sat Dumas’ police file. “Pulled some strings for ya and got the Parisian police to send me his police record. Nothing too serious, some drug possession back when he was younger and some minor speeding tickets. If you were expecting him to be a serial killer, you’re out of luck.”

“I’m not Flat, thanks,” Orlando commented. The screen sat on his mug shot where a younger Dumas smiled back at the camera. “God, he needs to see an orthodontist.” That got a snicker from the hacker.

Suddenly, Orlando’s phone came alive. A quick scan on the caller ID revealed that it was none other but the leach herself. _Great, the one that got me into this mess._ He patted Watcher’s shoulder and turned on his heel.

“If you find anything else, feel free to e-mail me,” Orlando ordered.

Watcher saluted him as he closed the document. “No problem, boss.”

Orlando pressed the ‘answer’ button as he called for the elevator. “Keep it up, Icarus.”

He didn’t see Watcher’s face contort as the elevator doors had already shut.

 

Orlando could have thought of a million things he would rather do at that moment.

He knew that he was missing a briefing right then by being there. He had to apologize to John as he made his way out of the precinct. “Sorry, you can lead the briefing with the Clan without me there, right? I unfortunately have a meeting with the Grady twins.” 

“Yes, sir!” Orlando sometimes wondered how he kept that much enthusiasm after working as a detective for so long. Nevertheless, he was much better at leading pep talks and any team building exercises than Reeve was. 

Besides the meeting, he had a bunch of paperwork to fill out. Bright-eyed Hippolyta had dropped off a pile of arrests she had made the night before that would need to be signed before going into the storage room. 

He could likely think of any number of things, but his attention was suddenly brought back to the two devils that were, for the first time since the captain sat down, looking at him. _Crap, they must have asked something._

“My apologies, I had drifted off for a second there. Can you repeat the question?” Orlando asked. He reached down to calm his bouncing leg. God, it was something about the two of them that made him squirm in his seat.

He had no idea as to why Faldeus enjoyed the company of these two. Maybe he didn’t.

“I was just saying how amazing it’s going to be that Dumas will be shadowing you!” Francesca beamed.

Ah yes, Francesca Prelati. The daughter and heir of the famous Prelati confectionary company. Also, Nevada’s governor. She most certainly looked like a Prelati, with her short stature and her snow-white hair. Today she was wearing a black and white striped dress that Orlando could only picture a little girl wearing. Along with her squeaky, intolerable voice, he hadn’t been surprised when Hansa had originally called her a little girl when they first met.

“Of course, simply amazing. I know for one that some of my officers are big fans of his works. I imagine this will liven up the precinct.” Orlando bit the inside of his mouth. While he would have loved to tell them _no, it won’t be amazing, he’ll just annoy him and make things run ten times slower, I hate you for making me do this,_ he knew better than to. He would be getting more trips from Faldeus if that happened.

“Hear that brother? He has fans at the precinct! I knew this was a splendid idea!” Francesca clapped to herself as she jumped up and down in her seat. God, he wished she would accidentally fall over.

“Mhm, you made an excellent decision, sister.” Francois cut into his steak with a grin that would likely scare the devil.

Then there was Francois Prelati. Twin brother to Francesca and deputy governor of Nevada. It was unlikely that they would be found apart. They looked practically the same with their pale complexions and white hair. He was also wearing a similar outfit to his sister, the black and white striped suit reminding Orlando of Beetlejuice. 

Orlando decided to keep his attention on the food in front of him. Since the Prelati twins offered to pay, he had ordered the most expensive cut on the menu. He tried to keep his eyes on his well-done steak, but every time either twin spoke his eyes would flitter down to their own. They both ordered bloody, the red of the meat reminiscent of some of the bodies down in Doc’s morgue.

They were eating at the restaurant of the casino. It was certainly the richest place in town, where lucky winners would spend their new winnings on the best cuts of meat and oldest wines available. As they were a powerful family, the Prelati family had their own section cut off from the rest of the floor by a velvet curtain the same colour of the red of their steaks. 

Francesca took another sip of wine. The red that dyed her lips made a stark contrast with the pallor of her skin. She really was a ghostly apparition, wasn’t she? Disappearing when she was needed the most, haunting and hounding you at night. Orlando wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t stalk people in their sleep.

“Um,” a meek voice called out. A young face poked through the curtain. Black, straight bangs that danced above chocolate brown eyes. He wore a well-fitting black suit with a purple dress shirt underneath and short black gloves. Orlando recognized the face; he had seen the boy following at Francesca’s heels at press events. “The reporter called, wants to know when you would be available for an interview.”

Francesca turned 180 in her seat, her black and white fingernails gripping the back of the chair. “Oh Sigma! Thank you so much!” 

_Oh right, Sigma Prelati._ Not related by blood, but rather by Francesca adopting him and giving him a last name. According to a very drunk Faldeus, he had suddenly appeared at the mayor’s office behind Francesca and no one asked about it. 

_Well, everyone but Watcher._

“Would you like some? I’m sure I could ask the chef to make you some. You like fish, yes? I heard they have some great tilapia here! Come here, come here,” Francesca beckoned him into the room. He awkwardly stepped through the curtain, but remained with his back pressed against it.

“I’m fine Miss Prelati.”

“Oh come on,” she sighed, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. 

“Leave it. If the boy doesn’t want to eat, then that’s his decision,” Francois said, swirling his wine around in the glass. “Furthermore, you’re embarrassing yourself in front of our guest.”

Suddenly she remembered that Orlando was at the table. She spun back around and smiled weakly at the captain. “Sorry Reeve, didn’t mean to ignore you~! So, as we were saying-"

“Miss,” Sigma interrupted once more, “The lady is still on the line.” 

“Oh! I’m sorry Orlando, could you just hold on for a bit? I _must_ answer this call but once that’s over I would _love_ to talk to you about your lovely little precinct!”

Orlando finished his glass in one undignified swig and stood up, nodding at the twins. “I’m sorry but I think I have spent too much time outside of the station. If you’ll excuse me, I must return now. I will speak to you two later.”

Francesca’s disappointment clearly showed on her face as she pouted at the cop. “Fine, Mr. No-Fun-For-Franny!” She threw her hair over her shoulders in perfect timing with the roll of her eyes. Orlando noticed her brother smirking into his wine. “But you must tell me how your first meeting with Dumas goes, A-S-A-P!”

Orlando paused as he stood near the curtain doorway. “Wait, what do you mean?”

Francois titled his head playfully. The captain recognized that look. The “I know more than you” look. “Didn’t you know, Captain Reeve? My sister had sent him the address right before our lunch. He should be there for when you return.”

 _Oh god no._ Orlando breathed deeply and stepped through the curtain, making his way through the tables.

He made sure to grab another coffee on the way back.

 

Orlando felt it as he walked into the police station. The professional, serious tone seemed to have been stripped away since he had gone for lunch. The sense of home that he had associated with the precinct wasn’t there to hold him as he walked to the elevators. He caught a couple of his clan Catalin members whispering to themselves as he waited for the elevator to arrive.

So he must be here.

The ride up felt like forever. He adjusted his coat on his shoulders and instinctively ran a hand through his hair. _Why am I acting like a teenage girl? It’s just some dumb author who is going to ruin everything._ As the elevator dinged he raised his chin. He had his cruel stare practiced by this point.

He was ready. He had already walked in when John and No Name had been doing shots to celebrate her 21st birthday. He had survived 3 Halloween’s. He had survived November 24th, that horrid night, for god’s sake! Nothing could surprise him.

The doors slid open. Suddenly he felt a million eyes on him as he walked through and onto the floor. His eyes scanned the room for the author.

They fell on the visitor, hand on his cheek. As the visitor saw him, he raised his other hand and waved.

“YO! Orlando!”

_God, what did I do to deserve this?_


	2. Joe Deer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orlando shows Dumas around the precinct.

Alexandre Dumas.

It was a name that was synonymous with fame, women and money. Born to a famous Vietnam general after the war and a stay at home French wife, the government screwed over his father’s pension before dying soon after from stomach cancer. 

He spent his adolescence working to keep his family out of poverty before working his way up through printing and publishing of mystery and historical fiction novels. Once he felt he had learned as much as he needed to when it came to writing his own work, he published his first novel which was received with critical success and the number one spot on the New York Times’ best seller’s list. 

Once he had accrued the wealth that followed fame, he spent his earnings on women, famous Shakespearean and Homeric artifacts, and a large mansion on the Seine. With movie deals and highly acclaimed novels being released to his fans with bated breath, things seemed to be going well for Alexandre Dumas.

Then disaster struck. Another author had come out saying he had been giving Dumas ideas for his stories and was not being compensated for them. A series of court cases ensued. Alexandre was ordered to pay compensation and the two left their friendship in court. 

When Dumas finally finished his last novel, it flunked. The fans tore it apart as characters were added and dropped in the span of pages, while the critics hated how it lacked Dumas’ typical militaristic writing. Overall readers agreed: this wasn’t what they had expected from him.

With the court settlements and the flop of his new novel, he was forced into selling his mansion and his writing office, le Château d’If. Supposedly he spent some time living with some of his exes before getting an interesting proposition by the Prelatis, governors of Nevada. A couple of weeks later Alexandre Dumas was on a plane headed for Snowfield.

This was the story Alexandre had been telling the young detective as Orlando walked in. Well, that was what Alexandre told Orlando when he had successfully dragged him back into his office. 

“The slap suggests differently,” Orlando pointed out. The red palm print was slowly dying down but it must have been still bugging him, as the author periodically rubbed his cheek. 

Dumas laughed, “Ok ok, maybe I had said something along the lines of ‘but a pretty girl like you probably doesn’t care about this story’. I guess she didn’t take kindly to that.” 

Orlando glanced out of the window of his office to stare at the detective in question. Periodically sipping her coffee, she leafed through a file. Zealot, or more commonly known around the office as No Name, seemed to have calmed down since then. That made sense. After working under Detective Cervantes she had matured very quickly, up to the point where it seemed like she was the older one and he was her helper.

 _I’m surprised she didn’t break his arm to be honest,_ Orlando thought as his eyes drifted back to the author who was sitting in front of him. 

“You are not allowed to flirt with my detectives. It is not your job to disrupt my ward. Especially those who are working on the Jester case,” Orlando explained, resting his hands on his desk. 

Alexandre’s eyes widened and he snapped his head so he could stare at No Name once again. He turned to look back at the captain and pointed his thumb at the detective. “ _She_ is working to try to capture Jester Karturei, the world's most renown serial killer? She looks like she couldn’t even punch him.” 

“ _She_ is one of my strongest detectives, Mr. Dumas,” Orlando corrected. “Furthermore, you are not allowed to speak ill of my detectives.” 

Dumas settled back into his seat and shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t have guessed it.” Orlando chose to ignore that statement as he pulled out a file.

“Francesca told me that you are planning on shadowing me for three weeks. That should be enough time for you to understand the ins and outs of my ward. Of course, you are not allowed to share any information about specific cases or you will be detained. You cannot share personal information about my detectives or you will be detained. If I find you are endangering my detectives or going against any of the rules set out here then you will be removed from my ward by force.” 

Orlando opened the file to reveal a thick agreement he had Doris make up that morning.

“I try to run my ward as cleanly and smoothly as possible. Anyone who joins needs to comply. I know a celebrity might not be used to having someone push him around, but I must remind you Mr. Dumas that this is a privilege and I am being very kind to you by letting you see first hand how a police ward works,” Orlando continued as Alexandre flipped through the contract. 

Dumas grabbed a pen from his jacket pocket and signed the final page. He looked up and smiled at Orlando. “Sounds like a plan, bro.”

“Don’t call me that,” Orlando quickly snapped back. “Nor can you call me by my first name like you had done originally. You will address me as Captain Reeve.”

Alexandre leaned back into the chair and raised an eyebrow. “Francesca said it would be funny though!” 

_Of course she did,_ Orlando sighed as he slid the contract back into the file and closed it. He stood up and gestured to the door to the office.

“Well, I might as well introduce you to the officers you will be working with for the next three weeks.” Orlando walked around the desk and opened the door. “Come.”

The two desks that sat right outside Orlando’s office were Doris’ and Vera’s. Vera seemed to be out of the office then, so he led Dumas to Doris’ desk.

The older secretary beamed at them as they neared her. She was wearing her usual grandmother clothes with mismatched patterns sprinkled with flowers and polka dots. Her reading glasses sat half-way down her nose and matched her soft green eyes. 

Her desk was the epitome of organized. On one end sat a large monitor that seemed to have its text size up 200% as the letters took up most of the screen. The other end was taken over by files and paperwork ready to go to the basement or to Orlando’s office. To round the desk out sat a couple cute knickknacks, including a small horse sculpture her granddaughter Hippolyta had made when she was young.

“Lando,” she nodded at him, graciously taking the file from the captain’s hands as he handed it to her. She turned her head and smiled at the author standing behind him. “And you must be Alex! You look even more handsome than on TV!”

“Alex?” Dumas asked, scratching the back of his head. The reddening of his ears did not go unnoticed to Orlando.

_Guess she has that effect on everyone._

“Oh! That is the shortened version of your name, isn’t it?” Doris asked as she clapped her hands together.

“No no… It is but-”

“Would you prefer if I called you Xander instead?” 

“Ah um, non, just Alexandre is fine, thank you,” Dumas corrected. 

“Hm, ok hun,” Doris returned her attention back to Orlando. “V is at the morgue right now, I think she’s going for lunch with Lia.” 

“I see,” Orlando nodded. “Either way, Mr. Dumas, this is Doris Lusendra, my secretary. She’s been working here for over thirty years. If you need anything you can ask her politely. The rule of thumb is that if you’re nice to her, she’ll be ten times nicer back. Doris, this is Alexandre Dumas. He’ll be here for three weeks shadowing me to help on his novel. Please help him out as much as you can.”

Doris smiled, “Of course Lando!”

Orlando gave her one last nod before gesturing to the Vera’s desk. “At some point you’ll get to meet Vera Levitt. She is my second in command and my right arm here. She is also the sister of the lead coroner down in the morgue, Amelia, who you’ll meet eventually as well. They’re strong working sisters and you are not to disturb them in any way.”

“Yes sir!” Dumas saluted him. Orlando ground his teeth and walked further down.

The next row of desks belonged to John and Hippolyta. As the young boy seemed to be awestruck, Orlando thought it was best for him to introduce Hippolyta first.

“Officer Hippolyta, this is Alexandre Dumas. Dumas, Officer Hippolyta Lusendra.” 

“Nice to meet you!” the officer lunged her arm out and Dumas replied in kind, shaking her hand enthusiastically. 

“Lusendra? Are you somehow related to that vixen over there?” he nodded back towards Doris.

_This fucker._

Hippolyta blushed and laughed. “That’s my grandmum yeah. Us Lusendras have a habit of going into the police force.” 

“Hippolyta is one of the best drivers in the squadron. She’ll be joining us for stakeouts if necessary.” Orlando continued. 

Compared to her grandmother’s desk, Hippolyta’s was a disorganized mess. A couple of empty cans of Red Bull lay on their sides surrounding her computer. Papers were lazily strewn about and with a quick glance Orlando realized they all related to separate cases. How she was able to figure out where everything was remained a mystery. 

“So, you’re Dumas, huh? You don’t really look like the whole ‘New York Times bestseller’ type,” Hippolyta commented, leaning back into her chair. She moved the pen in her hand up and down.

“Oh?” Dumas smirked as he placed his hands in his pockets. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“We don’t have the time for this, Hippolyta,” Orlando warned.

“No no dude, please, I wanna know.” Orlando was about to remind him on the ‘dude’ when Hippolyta continued.

“Well, you kinda look like you’d only be on the bestseller’s list for writing something like _Fifty Shades_ , you know?” 

_Well, she’s not wrong._

Despite having dressed up for their first meeting, Dumas looked like he had robbed his father’s closet. It did not seem to fit him well, the shoulders a little too big, the pants a little too long. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and it seemed as if he needed to have his hands in his pockets in order to keep his pants up. With the ugly teeth and the eyebrows that would work better in a Tim Burton film, the overall look reminded Orlando of a drunk salary worker who had just been laid off.

“Ha! I see you’ve got a sharp tongue there. I like it,” Dumas winked at her. He leaned towards her and cupped his hand, as if telling her a secret. “And if you ever want to read my erotic _Twilight_ fanfiction, just let me know.”

Hippolyta laughed, “I might have to take you up on that offer! You know what those late nights with a glass of wine alone can be like.”

Dumas nodded in response, as if knowing exactly what she meant. 

“Ok that’s enough. Thank you, officer.” Hippolyta nodded at him as Orlando turned to head to John’s desk. “Oh, and also, clean up your desk.” He pretended to not have seen the officer stick his tongue out at him.

John seemed to have calmed down since the two had first reached the next row of desks. Before he could introduce the author to him, John thrust out his copy of _The Three Musketeers_ and bowed his head down.

“Hello! I’m a big fan! Would you please sign this for me?!” John shouted.

_Oh boy._

Dumas glanced at Orlando as if to say, ‘what should I do in this situation?’ Orlando just nodded at John, as if to respond, ‘just do it.’

“Ok ok, I can’t say no to a fan,” Dumas shrugged and puled out the pen from his jacket. He wrote a couple of sentences on the first page of the novel, making a performance of signing his name, before sliding his pen back into his pocket and handing the novel back. John quickly stowed the book back into his desk.

“Anyways. This is John Wingard, the head of my task force, or what we call ‘The Clan’. He’s one of my detectives-” Orlando began explaining, but was cut off by Dumas.

“Oh yeah, I know about this guy. Parents died and wanted revenge, right? Joined the police force to try to catch their killers, but it’s been a cold case for fifteen years and most of the people tied to the case are dead. Now wants to make sure nothing like this happens to anyone else. Am I correct?”

 _Well someone did their research._ Orlando now suddenly wondered how much he knew about him.

John looked down, now more interested in his nails than the two talking to him. “I… I wouldn’t call it that.”

Dumas shrugged and sighed. “Well, I can’t speak for you. But if I were to make you a main character that’s how I’d describe it.” He smirked. “Maybe with prettier words but-”

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” 

A quiet voice cut through the conversation. The trio turned to see No Name with her jacket on her arm and her phone in her hand. She turned to face Orlando.

“We’ve just got a call: a body was found in a cave in the desert an hour ago. We have a couple of officers heading there now. Early work on the scene suggests that the cause of death was blood loss. However, the body was found with two holes in the neck.”

Orlando raised his eyebrow, “Jester?”

No Name nodded. “Detective Cervantes is already on his way. The rest of the nuns are with him.”

“Okay, good. Call Vera and tell her to head directly the crime scene. You and John can take one car, I’ll go with Hippolyta.” No Name nodded and the two detectives headed out of the office.

“And you,” Orlando turned to Dumas and pointed at him, “Stay with me.” 

“That I can do!” 

Orlando grabbed his jacket and gestured to Hippolyta, who was all ready to go. They reached the elevators before Orlando studied Dumas again. 

“But before we do… Let’s get one thing done first.”

 

“Man, this thing is tight!” Dumas complained as he stepped out of the cruiser. He was now wearing the Snowfield Police outfit, fully outfitted with a sash and a police baton. Orlando had successfully convinced him that no, he did not need a bulletproof vest for investigating a crime scene, but that did not stop him from complaining.

“It’s a lot better than wearing something that was falling off.” 

It took about thirty minutes for them to get to the crime scene. In that time, more cruisers had appeared, and a parameter had been set up. He spotted Vera’s personal vehicle as well as Amelia’s van. The doors were open and some of the coroners working underneath her were working on getting the loading bed out of the van. He stepped inside the cave, which had been lit up by small lights on the ground. 

He stepped through the yellow tape. Already there was Detective Cervantes himself, in a huddle surrounded by his ‘nun squad’ – a group of young ladies that he had picked up along the way. Amongst them was No Name, who was rapidly scribbling into her notebook.

Amelia and Vera were discussing amongst themselves. Amelia was currently crouched, taking photographs of the crime scene, sometimes pausing to turn back to talk to her sister. Vera caught Orlando’s eye and gave him a small nod, which he returned.

Since No Name was there, so was John, who quickly attached himself to Orlando when he approached. He slid his pen onto his ear and opened up his notebook. He began his briefing.

“Male, age 36. Time of death estimated to be around three o’clock this morning. The wallet found in his pocket ID’s him as one ‘Joe Deer’. He does have living relatives – well, he did. Police that went to his wife’s house found both his wife and son dead. Some early coroner work suggests that he killed his wife and child before heading out here. What he was planning to do here though, that’s the real question.”

“No signs of suicide?” Orlando asked, “The guy killed his wife and son for Pete’s sake.”

John shook his head, pointing his pen at the body’s neck. “Two bite marks were found in his neck.”

“Jester’s signature.”

“Exactly.” 

Orlando nodded and patted John’s arm. “Thank you. Find out more about the wife and son for me.” 

He headed towards the pair of sisters. Vera was rapidly texting someone while Amelia went through her camera. 

“Well, how did he die?” He asked, looking at the body.

Amelia sighed and again crouched down. Orlando joined her. She gestured at the body. 

“I can’t do a in depth look at him until we’re back at the morgue but…There seems to be some signs of trauma on his wrists, suggesting that he was tied up. There’s also some blunt force on his head, but no signs that the body was moved here. Boot prints matching his back up the fact that he came here by himself.”

She used her gloved hand to tilt the body’s head, revealing his neck. The two, tiny holes gleamed back at Orlando.

“Two bite marks found on the neck. It does fit Jester’s style, from the side of the neck that he prefers. If it’s really him it would be his third male victim.”

“Do you think it’s him?” Orlando asked. 

“It lacks the theatrics.” 

Orlando looked up, and standing next to him was a very tired looking Detective Cervantes. He was currently cradling a coffee despite it being almost suppertime. Bags sat underneath the one eye that wasn’t covered by his eyepatch. 

“Did you just roll out of bed?” Orlando asked. Cervantes raised his eyebrow.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” he answered.

“Too busy fighting off the devil? Or were you at the slots again?”

“Ha. If you actually did your job and read the arrest files, you would know that I was doing stakeouts with No Name and Hippolyta.”

Orlando smirked, “Is that any way you should be talking to your captain?”

“I’ll only talk to you nicely if you plan on giving me a raise.”

“Well I’d give you a raise if you didn’t spend over a year trying to catch the same guy, Hansa.”

The detective laughed and shook his head. “Okay yeah, you got me there.”

Hansa took a swig of his coffee before pointing at the body. “As I was saying, it lacks his usual theatrics. Even though we’re in a cave, there’s nothing on the walls or on the ground, really. Where is the Shakespearean soliloquy? There’s not even his signature in blood.”

Orlando nodded. If there was anyone who knew Jester’s signature it was Detective Hansa Cervantes. A detective from New Mexico who moved to Snowfield after the murder of his entire family at the hands of Jester, he had been following him for almost ten years at that point. Recently the serial killer had remained in Snowfield, and thus, so did Hansa.

“The only thing we have tying the body to him is the bite marks. But the thing is, the perp didn’t drain all of his blood—another Jester staple. Either Jester didn’t have the time to do what he wanted or—”

“Someone is trying to copy him.”

_Oh right, Dumas._

Orlando had been so wrapped up in the crime scene that he had forgotten about the author who was shadowing him. He was currently standing right behind him, with a notebook out and his pen, madly scribbling down notes. When he noticed that everyone was staring at him, he paused his note-taking and gave his pen a small wave. 

“Who are you?” Hansa asked.

Orlando waved at him. “Right, you weren’t here this morning. Hansa, this is Alexandre Dumas, he’s shadowing me for three weeks.”

“Why?”

“Prelati.”

“Ah, say no more.” He extended his hand and Dumas scrabbled to put away his pen so that he could shake it. “Detective Cervantes.” He turned back to look at Orlando. “Are you sure that he should be behind the tape?” 

Orlando shrugged, “As long as he doesn’t vomit.”

“If Flat hears about this you will not hear the end of it.”

“That’s why I send him to you.”

Hansa rolled his eyes. “So, you think someone’s copying him, huh?”

Now with the attention back on him, Dumas flipped through his notes again. “Well, if we just look at Jester’s pattern, if that’s the correct term, then he usually kills closer to the downtown. This is way too far outside his reach.”

When everyone nodded, Dumas continued, “Plus, as you said, he does have a thing for the theatrics. When he first came to Snowfield he killed… ten people?”

“Twelve,” Hansa corrected, “It seemed like he had found a group of people who worshipped his murders and killed them.”

“Right, the twelve cultists. Well, when that happened, he made it look as if he almost sucked their souls out. Not to mention it was in one of the wealthiest mansions in Snowfield. But here? We’re in some cave miles away from any building. Jester wants his murders to be found. Plus… just the place itself. He should not be allowed here.”

Orlando furrowed his brow. “Why’s that?”

Dumas pulled out his phone and did a quick google search. He pulled a photo up on his phone and showed it to Orlando. 

“This site is sacred. We’re on the reserve right now.” 

Orlando sighed and stood up. He turned to Vera. “Tell Watcher to get Miss Chelc’s number.”

As she walked off, her phone pressed against her ear, he turned back to Alexandre. “Well we should let Amelia finish her work. Come on, let’s get back to the station.”

Dumas pocketed his notebook and followed behind him, trying his best to keep up with Orlando’s pace. When they were out of earshot, he asked, “Do you dislike Detective Cervantes?”

“Pardon?” Orlando raised his eyebrow.

“You know. The new, young detective, coming in. Not respecting his superiors, pretending to be the hot shot. However, he’s a genius, and despite him being an ass, he’s the best you’ve got, so you can’t fire him.”

Orlando stopped so he could face Dumas. “He ordained my wedding.”

“Wait… what?” Dumas blinked and turned back to look at Hansa, who was now delegating the nuns.

“He used to be a priest before becoming a detective. As such, at our wedding, he married my wife and I.”

“So… he’s not the wise-cracking detective who is constantly annoying his superior?”

Orlando gave him a look. “Not everything is a television trope, Dumas.”

He continued walking, leaving Dumas to catch up.

“He’s a _priest?_ ” Dumas whispered under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Long time no see lol.  
> I wanted to wait until after the fourth volume in order to get more information on Hippolyta and Doris. However, that did not happen lol. So I'm sorry if they seem out of character? And they aren't actually like that at all? But I did want to get the chapter out... I hope this is fine.  
> I hope I got Hansa and Orlando's relationship well. I went back and read their scenes in the second volume for inspiration.  
> As of right now the third chapter is a quarter done. I'll make the chapters come out more frequently now.  
> Also Dumas needs to be hit with some of that "respect women juice."

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first chapter of castle!au!  
> It's been a while since I've written but this reminded me as to why I loved it so much.  
> All of the F/SF cast will be included, don't worry! I will be adding the other characters as they become relevant.  
> Thank you for reading!


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